


The End is Just the Beginning

by FujoshiForBrownies



Series: Shattered [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Depression, Other, Rape, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 04:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FujoshiForBrownies/pseuds/FujoshiForBrownies
Summary: Collection of oneshots on ((my opinion of)) how the reapers of Kuroshitsuji took their lives. Not for the faint of heart or the emotional - this deals with sensitive subjects .





	The End is Just the Beginning

It  hurts . Grell rolled over, wrapping himself in the crumpled sheets of their bed, trying to hide his bruised, aching body from prying eyes, as he struggles to keep the smell of the sheets - his only lifeline - from seeping into his pale skin, from permeating him like _ he  _ has. Grell can still remember it clearly, how his hands had held Grell’s hips roughly, leaving dark red bruises among the scars he has from the candle wax poured on his back. How his breath had smelled, rotten like something dying, and Grell supposes it _ is _ something dying. Trust, the small amount of trust Grell had for him. For Bennett. His breath smelled like tobacco, earthy and mysterious. It was the smell of blood - Grell’s own blood - from the wounds on his shoulders.  _ Love bites _ , Bennett called them. One shaking hand went to his stomach, feeling the lines there.

 

_ I can't take this anymore.  _ Grell thought, removing his hand from his shoulder as his frail body shook with sobs. He doesn't dare to cry out loud here, because he knows Bennett could be anywhere, waiting for him to break so he has a reason to yell at Grell again, to punish him like he has all these other times. Grell has to stay quiet. He has all these six years, after all.  _ Please. Why won't he stop?  _ Grell already knows the answer, though. It's because Bennett enjoys it, enjoys seeing Grell in pain, crying and pleading as his diminishing sanity was slowly ripped away from his broken body, bleeding crimson red like some unspeakable sin. And it is a sin, at least in Grell’s eyes. Love should be mutual, with consent from both sides. But he can't remember the last time Bennett asked him if something was okay. If he ever did in the first place. 

 

Sighing shakily, Grell decides to start his day, knowing he can't stay in bed forever like this. Reaching over, his numb fingers catch on the edge of the sheet, intending to pull it off his body, but he hesitates. This sheet is the only thing covering his broken body. The only thing that protects him from Bennett. He can't bear exposing himself yet again, even if it just to get dressed or shower, a futile attempt to wash away the explicit memories and fluids from the night before. His own blood coats his shoulders and parts of his chest where it dripped down unbeknownst to Grell at that time. It's coppery smell, unnoticed up until now, rises up in the air like a helium balloon, filling the space like some type of invisible gas.

 

Grell’s trembling fingers pull the sheet off, and the cold air caresses his body like a gentle touch. But to Grell, it feels false, too gentle to exist here, where there is only pain and more pain and lies Grell is surprised he believed. The wind is cold on his broken body, much like Bennett’s dark eyes, forest green but with flecks of ice in there, unloving. Cold as Antarctica, with the hidden meaning of a thousand sleepless night spent yelling, pleading as Bennett broke him-

 

_ No!   _ Grell shook his head quickly, his long red hair whapping him in the face, as sobs rise up in his chest. He doesn't want to remember, yet his traitorous mind won't let the matter go. It keeps replaying the moment, making him feel everything, every little ache and sound and laceration. Bile rises up in Grell’s throat, and he just manages to get to the bathroom sink before the contents of his stomach spew out of his mouth, hot and stinking, burning his esophagus and throat as it shoots out of him. Sinking to his knees, Grell sobs quietly, pressing his mouth and teeth into his arm to stifle his last, broken cry for help.

 

As he sinks into the linoleum, Grell’s joints protest, the soft fibers of the bathroom rug bending against his bruises, making him cry out. It's so painful, even the slightest touch, and Grell wishes it could stop, wishes he could speak out and rid his body of Bennett’s mendacious touch forever. Slowly getting up, Grell looks at his reflection in the mirror, no longer shocked by what he sees. He's not like he was six years ago, worrying about every little cut, every little bruise, worrying about how to hide them. Now, he just hides them, not even bothering to put any antiseptic cream on them. It's hopeless, he knows. Why fix them? 

 

“They’ll never close up.” Grell mumbles out, feeling his heart squeeze for a second at the painfully true statement he just uttered. “Never. He's broken me…” and that's the truth. Grell’s breaking, broken. Gone. Reaching out, Grell touches the reflection with broken fingertips, rough on the edges where he's bitten the skin away out of nerves, mostly at work, hiding at the end of they day, dreading the train ride home because he knows he’ll have to go through this all over again. He's tired of it, tired of lying to people - the people at work, his boss, strangers who see the marks on the back of neck from two years ago when he said the wrong thing and ended up with those marks to remind Grell who the boss of the house was. No, who the boss of  _ him  _ was. And that was Bennett. “I never wanted him to break me.”

 

Pulling his arm back, Grell walks over to the shower. And with numb hands and fingers, he turns the knobs to start the needling spray of water so he can clean himself off all over again, scrubbing his body with the boiling hot water until it's an angry red, scoured until it bleeds. But even that isn't enough to erase his touch. It lingers like Bennett’s voice does in the back of his mind, a leech sucking all the health and life out of his body, leaving him a painful husk. Stepping into the water, Grell lets the hot spray of water cascade down his skinny body, plastering his long red hair to the sides of his face, his hips, his back. The water runs in rivulets down his body, and reaches the old cuts Grell’s long since forgotten about, making them sting.  Eventually, it hurts too much, and his whole body stings like he's been slapped all over. Sinking to his knees, he reaches up to stop the water, and his arm drops down after, wrapping around his bare chest, a hug he deserves more than anything else, yet he has to suffer through this horrible life where he's captive inside himself, unable to speak out like he needs to. His whole body is marred with bruises, marks where clothes cover them so no one looking at Grell would be able to tell he's suffering, that his whole body is broken. The false smile he pastes on his face is there as a defensive action, much like his arms covering his face are, how his hands go over his ears to block out the sound of his own pleas, his own voice wanton for release, escape from this hell he is forced to live in. But no one has heard him. No one - not even at work - knows he's suffering. 

 

“I just want it to stop!” Grell cries out, forgetting to be silent for a minute. Clapping a hand over his mouth, his chest aches with the tears he has yet to shed. What did he do to deserve this? He's lived normally, nicely, never snubbing anybody or stolen anything. “Please! I'm begging you!” every day he has to deal with this pain, lying to the people that care about him most. He's broken, bleeding, sick of so many things that have happened to him. He doesn't want people to rule over him anymore. He doesn't want to deal with  _ anybody,  _ actually. He's tired of listening to people talk to him, hearing Bennett’s voice yelling in the back of his head  _ you're mine you're not good enough  _ over and over again.

 

Standing, Grell’s eyes focus on the medicine cabinet, and he limps over to it, slumping on the closed toilet seat underneath it. With weak fingers, he opens it up, praying there's  _ something  _ in there he can take to help him forget this, even if it doesn't kill him. But a part of him wants it to kill him so that he can be gone, away from Bennett and everyone else. Opening the cabinet, the first thing his eyes focus on is the  acetone , the nail polish remover he had somehow managed to persuade Bennett to buy for him. That was the only thing Bennett had ever bought for him, if you think about it.

 

_ Maybe he knew I’d use it like this.  _ Grell thinks, his hand closing around the bottle to pull it out with arms that no longer work.  _ Maybe Bennett was thinking about this moment all this time.  _ Opening the cap, he stares into the pinkish, fuming contents, feeling high merely from smelling it. His stomach rumbles - he hasn't eaten breakfast yet - and that sparks a thought in his head. “They always say a good drink is the first part of breakfast, right?” Grell laughs, though it sounds like a cat coughing up a hairball because his throat is still raw from throwing up earlier. “We'll, it's not orange juice, but this will work.”

 

Tipping the bottle back, he places it to his lips and drinks up the whole contents of the bottle. Liquid fire runs down his body, and he convulses, spewing back up half the contents of the bottle onto his bare legs as his eyes squeeze shut against the pain. His body is on fire, and it hurts _ so so so much _ . Even more than what he deals with on a daily basis. Still, he won't have to deal with it ever again.

 

“I'm sorry..” he mumbles out, as he falls off the seat and onto his back, his eyes closing. 

 

“Can you live without me, Bennett?” 

  
  
  
  



End file.
